


Four Weddings

by jewelledfoxes



Category: Bridgerton (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, I'm literally incapable of writing anything else, a host of other bridgertons will turn up, my god so much angst, tbf he IS an idiot, the fact that colin is an idiot is mentioned almost every chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29560242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jewelledfoxes/pseuds/jewelledfoxes
Summary: Colin's too busy off travelling the world to consider that maybe what he's looking for is right back where he started.An angst-filled Colin + Penelope modern day romance told over the course of four weddings, a funeral and a graduation (kinda).
Relationships: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 104





	1. 11th March 2017

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man I can't write to save my life but enjoy this hot mess. I'm trying. Also, gotta admit I haven't read the books and I was paying much more attention to the costumes and the production design of the show than the plot so if you're big into accuracy this is probably not going to be a fun time.  
> This is more of a prologue really it does absolutely nothing for the plot but I really wanted to call it Four Weddings and a Funeral so I had to add in a funeral scene. Then I added a graduation too and realised that Four Weddings, a Funeral and a Graduation would be a bit of a mouthful so it didn't even really matter.

“Do I really have to go?” he asks one final time, while his mother begins retying his tie that she’s just undone because apparently if you ask Violet, even at 22 years old Colin’s incapable of dressing himself. If you ask him the tie was fine before she got anywhere near it. 

She fixes him with a hard stare that says he already knows that he has to go. 

It’s not as if he’d actually expected the answer to be any different to the last ten times he asked, but he thought it was at least worth a go. “Why?” 

“We’re important figures in this community, we’ll be expected to pay our respects.” She informs him in a severe tone. 

Colin hopes that when he kicks the bucket no one attends his funeral out of a sense of obligation or an attempt to save face. And if that means there’s only three people there he thinks he can come to terms with that. 

His mum finishes tightening the knot around his neck and looks at him with tired, kind eyes. She smiles as she smooths down the shoulders of his jacket. “Aren’t you handsome?”

He sighs and rolls his eyes and shoots Gregory a dirty look when he hears a snigger at his side. Not that Gregory actually sees, he’s too busy texting or gaming or whatever it is he does on that phone he spends almost all of his time on.

This is all his own fault really. If he’d had any sense he would’ve done what Daphne had done and stayed at uni, at least until after his dissertation deadline, then his mum wouldn’t have been able to force him to attend any social events. But the idea of not having to cook dinner for himself had been too enticing and so here he was, dressed up in one of his finest suits, ready to attend the funeral of a man he had quite literally never spoken to. 

The girls come down the stairs, both in black, Eloise in wide leg trousers and a blouse with a dramatic bow around the neck that reminds him of the Addams family and Hyacinth in skinny jeans and black top.

“Absolutely not! Go change right this instant young lady!” Violet says before she can even get to the bottom of the staircase.

Hyacinth sighs before turning around to trudge back up the stairs, at 12 she’s just starting to hit her “you don’t understand me, mom” phase and it seems to be manifesting itself in loud music, skinny jeans and a lot of eyeliner. 

“We are going to a funeral not to hang about outside the shops!” Violet calls up the stairs after her.

Eloise sidles up to stand next to him and says “I did tell her,” under her breath.

She looks exhausted. She’s got enough on her plate just from school, with A levels just round the corner and an offer to study English literature at Oxford that she needs As in all of her subjects to get accepted for. He knows how important this is for her - she’s been talking about going to the most prestigious university in the country almost as long as she could talk. So it’s a terrible time to have to be comforting a best friend who has just lost their father on top of it all. 

“Hey, how are you doing?” he asks, softly.

She shrugs, and gives him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’m fine, just worried about Pen.”

He wraps an arm around her and pulls her into his side. “Yeah, I know.” There’s not much he can say to make it better. There’s no magic way to make everything easier but hopefully she knows that he’s there for her if she needs.

Hyacinth comes down in a flowing black dress and long black satin gloves that she hopes makes her look like the ghost of a murdered Victorian lady.

Violet just sighs. “Fine, just get in the car.”

* * *

The church is pretty full, which seems surprising to him when Mr Featherington hadn’t exactly been a popular figure in the town. He was mainly known for spending far too much time round the pub and single-handedly keeping the town’s betting shops in business. They listen as a range of people try to delicately skirt around this, and make attempts to find more positive traits, with varying degrees of success. A lot of them mention his family, especially daughters, although he’s not entirely sure that the man could’ve told you which daughter was which.

“Thank god that’s over,” Hyacinth whispers once the ceremony has concluded and people have started to get up to leave. 

“I don’t think funerals are exactly supposed to be fun.” Eloise snaps back at her.

Gregory turns to look up at their mum and ask, “Are we going home now?”

“We should give our sympathies to the family first,” Violet tells them authoritatively.

Hyacinth sighs dramatically and loudly.

Violet glances round discreetly, ever conscious of the family’s image and fishes her car keys out of her purse, handing them over to the older of the two. “Right, you two can go wait in the car, but do _not_ do _anything_ silly, do you understand me?” She gives them a stern look that all of the siblings know means she really isn’t in the mood to be messed about.

They both nod solemnly, and then turn, grins on their faces at the thought of getting out of the room. He doesn’t blame them really, it’s not a particularly nice atmosphere and at that age death is a difficult thing to deal with.

“Right, come on, with me,” Violet says, turning back to the two of her children left. They follow her through the crowd that seems to naturally part to make way for her and wait behind the Cowpers who are currently talking to the widow, an imposing figure in an almost inappropriately extravagant black embellished gown and a dark veil over her face. She’s flanked by the two eldest Featherington sisters, Prudence and Phillipa. El’s friend Penelope is stood a little behind the others. It’s no secret in the small, gossip-driven town that the matriarch doesn’t much care for her youngest daughter, disappointed by her focus on academics instead of appearance. 

She’s always been a wonderful match for Eloise though, who had always felt like a bit of an outcast before they found each other. The whole Bridgerton family will forever be grateful to Penelope for the way she made Eloise feel more comfortable with herself. And she tempers her loud, brash enthusiasm a little, with her slightly more reserved personality, which is always appreciated. 

When Mrs Featherington sees that _the_ Violet Bridgerton is waiting to speak to her, she rushes to bring her conversation with Mrs Cowper to a close. She all but snatches the casserole dish they’ve offered from them and passes it absent-mindedly behind her to Penelope, who adds it to the pile that’s forming on the pew next to her. With that, Mrs Featherington begins her goodbyes, firmly hurrying the Cowpers along.

“Violet, what a pleasure to see you,” she says as they approach.

“We’re all truly sorry for your loss,” Violet starts, and she begins to say what a deep pain will be left by his absence. 

While their mothers talk, Penelope comes forward to talk to Colin and Eloise. He’s surprised by how much older she looks than how he’d remembered her. He tells himself off almost as soon as he thinks it because of course she looks older, it’s been a long time since they’ve spent time together. He used to see her reasonably regularly, back when Violet used to encourage all of his siblings to have friends over on the same day so that she could get it out of the way with. Whilst she had done her best to keep the youngest siblings entertained, him and Daphne would be charged with keeping an eye on Eloise, Francesca and their friends. As Daphne and Eloise could barely go two minutes without fighting like cats and dogs, he’d generally kept an eye on Eloise and Penelope, and his sister looked after Francesca, as they had a much more amiable relationship. It hadn’t been a difficult job for him; generally he’d been able to convince the girls to sit in the front room to talk about books, or school gossip, or future plans, so that he could just play on the xbox with his mates. He’d occasionally offer them a drink or food if he was feeling particularly hospitable. Penelope had been polite and well-mannered, if a little quiet at times. But she’d always had a hilarious witty comment or dry joke that would send her and Eloise into fits of laughter at dinner, and she assumed no one else could hear.

The last time he’d seen her must’ve been before he’d gone off to university almost four years ago, so it’s really no surprise that she’s changed from the young girl he once knew. He tries to remember what Eloise was like back in year 9 and ultimately fails.

Eloise wraps Penelope in a tight hug and says, “I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks for being here.”

“No, of course,” Eloise says. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” she asserts. She tries to smile at them both but it’s so clearly empty and fake that it does more to illustrate how far from fine she is.

He can tell that Eloise doesn’t quite know how to address it, the rift between what she’s said and what she clearly feels.

“Anything we can do, just let us know,” he tells Penelope, knowing that it’s what his mum would say.

“Yeah, anything,” Eloise echoes.

“Thank you,” she says sincerely, “both of you.”

* * *

When the doorbell rings, Colin’s stood in the kitchen eating ice cream out of the tub and taking a buzzfeed quiz about which Star Trek character he is despite never having watched the show as a way of avoiding the impending doom of his dissertation that’s due in a couple of days and is nowhere near finished. He tries to figure out who it could possibly be. The lights in the living room were out so everyone else must be in their bedrooms. His mum will be asleep at this hour; Eloise is more than likely up working still, Anthony too; he thinks that maybe the youngest two might have gone to bed, either that or messaging their friends and watching Netflix. He guesses it’s most likely a visitor for Anthony - they all know he’s been seeing a girl despite his clear thinking that he’s being discreet about it. But the bell rings again and no one comes rushing down the stairs so he puts the ice cream away and goes to investigate. 

He opens the door to the cold spring night. It’s spitting, lightly enough that you can only see the droplets illuminated in the street lights. Penelope is standing on the doorstep, bundled up into a coat, hood drawn up and almost covering her eyes. 

“Come in,” he says, immediately stepping out of the doorway, wanting to get her out of the cold as quickly as possible. When he’s shut the door and she’s kicked her shoes off, she’s left standing, shivering a little, on the doormat. He’s beginning to ask what she’s doing here when she bursts into tears. 

“Oh Pen,” he murmurs, and he wraps her up in a hug. “It’ll get better I promise,” he tells her, even though he knows that in this moment it will be impossible for her to believe that the pain and sadness won’t go on forever.

She allows herself to linger in his embrace for about half a minute before she pulls away from him a little and he releases her and takes a step back. Wiping tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand she looks up at him timidly. “Sorry, I’ve got your top all wet,” she apologises, nodding at the tiny wet splotches on his t-shirt.

He smiles warmly and takes her coat to hang in the radiator in the hallway. “I think I’ll survive. Come on, I’ll make you a cup of tea and call El down,” he says as he begins to walk through to the kitchen. 

She nods and follows him. 

“Take a seat” he says, gesturing at the table as he walks into the room and sticks the kettle on. Then he fishes the phone from his pocket, closes the quiz he was doing and texts _Pen’s here_ and _Kitchen_ to his sister. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

She shakes her head. “No, no that’s why I came here, I can’t-” She stops for a second and swallows thickly before trying to explain. “It’s too much at home, I can hear everyone thinking about it.”

“Well, I can tell you about my diss on militaristic identity in the Severan Empire, that might cheer you up,” he jokes. 

It feels like a real achievement to hear her laugh and a smile spreads across his face.

“I’d rather hear about something that makes you happy,” she tells him. 

Something that makes him happy... Days from his dissertation deadline he can’t think of anything - he’s almost certain he’s never felt any emotion other than this anxious stress. 

“When do you go travelling?” She asks.

Oh that, that’ll be it. How she found it when he couldn’t is a mystery but yes, if there’s something that inspires uncontainable excitement that is it. “June, after finals.” He tells her. His flight for Athens is booked for three days after his final exam. Violet had been immensely disappointed in him for not sticking around for his graduation ceremony, but he had argued she has seven other children whose graduations she can attend, his eldest sister’s happening this year even. In the end he feels like there’s something out there for him, something in this big terrible world that he’s meant to find and he doesn’t have the time to waste.

“That’s exciting,” Penelope says.

He nods. “Yeah… You’ll look after Eloise when I’m gone, won't you? Stop her from anything stupid.”

Penelope nods and he can see she’s about to say something to that when his sister comes through the door, into the kitchen.

“My ears are burning” she remarks, giving him a look, and takes a seat next to Penelope at the table. 

“Hey El,” Penelope says.

“Hey sweet,” she replies wrapping her in a tight hug

Just then, the kettle boils and he turns round to brew two mugs of tea and a coffee for him, seeing how he probably won’t sleep now until his dissertation deadline. 

“Can I stay the night?” He hears Penelope ask behind him, followed by Eloise’s enthusiastic response of “yeah, of course. We can watch that new period drama on Netflix and complain about how it isn’t pride and prejudice.”

He brings the two mugs of tea to the table, and the girls nod a thank you at him. “Make sure to text your mum yeah, don’t want her worrying where you are,” he instructs - with Violet asleep he supposes that it probably falls to him to play the role of the responsible adult here.

“Yeah, we will do,” Eloise says.

He nods and leaves with his coffee in hand. 

_Lmk if you need anything_ , he texts Eloise, _I'll be up most of the night_. 

_thanks bro_ , she replies. And then half an hour later, _did you seriously eat half the ice cream already?_

* * *

He comes down at almost three in the morning. He’s finally figured out how to phrase the third paragraph so that it actually makes sense in the narrative of his essay which is a pretty colossal win considering how many days he’s spent tweaking it and never quite getting it right. He pops his head into the living room on his way past and finds Penelope curled up on the sofa and Eloise in the big chair, blankets and cushions wrapping them up like cocoons. He smiles to himself and in the kitchen as he’s brewing yet another coffee and waiting for the toaster to finish, he rips off a piece of kitchen towel. Before he heads back to his room to try and tackle the dreaded conclusion he tucks a rough doodle of a penguin saying _you're so strong, you'll get through this,_ _from one Pen to another (that was a bad attempt at a penguin pun by the way, I’m sorry),_ by Penelope’s head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would appreciate constructive criticism. I am objectively a bad writer.


	2. 9th August 2018

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's commented - you've all been really lovely. In this chapter I start to earn the ridiculous number of angst related tags.

“You look more nervous than him,” Benedict comments with an amused smile.

They’re both standing at the front of the church as the last few guests filter in. There’s a hum of chatter provided by people making small talk, discussing the beauty of the stained glass windows or the decorations that Violet has painstakingly organised, overseeing the placement of every single flower, every petal. She has been working herself into a frenzy for the past week in order to make sure that everything is perfect for her eldest son. 

Anthony’s talking to the other two groomsmen, Simon and James, his best mates from uni, leaving Benedict the time to realise that Colin isn’t exactly comfortable being in front of all these people. There are a lot of eyes on them and if he manages to accidentally ruin his brother’s big day his mum will have his guts for garters.

“I’m just worried I’m going to fuck it up somehow.”

Benedict shakes his head. “All you have to do is stand there and look pretty.” Then his face drops, features rearranging themselves into a concerned expression. “Oh, oh wait, yeah I can see why you’re worried,” he says with faux sincerity. 

“Benedict,” Colin warns in an irritable tone

“No, no I understand it’s not quite as easy for some…”

Colin tries to punch his brother discreetly enough that it won’t get him in trouble with their mother who is almost certainly watching them like a hawk to make sure that everything goes to plan, but hard enough to send a message.

“Ow, god alright,” Benedict laughs. “Seriously, you can’t mess it up. You just stand there and don’t... like... object... or faint.”

“Right.” He thinks he can perhaps manage that, although he’s certain there are other ways he could mess this up. 

Then there’s a hush from the crowd as the music starts up and everyone stands, ready for the bride to make her entrance. As he looks towards the doors at the back of the hall, he notices Penelope stood near the back next to one of Francesca’s friends. They lock eyes and she smiles at him, before turning to watch as Kate enters the hall.

She’s a vision as she walks down the aisle in a red silk lehenga embellished with intricate patterns in gold beads and sequins and trims, and Colin wonders (not for the first time) how his brother got so lucky. By the look on Anthony’s face, he’s thinking the same thing. 

* * *

The sun’s beginning to set by the time Colin is able to slip away from Violet and he takes the opportunity to find the drinks table and downs two glasses of wine in as many minutes. _It’s a wedding_ , he tells himself, _you’re supposed to be drunk_. Outside the first stars are beginning to shine against the rapidly darkening sky, but the august air is warm enough that people slip through the big french doors every now and again to get away from the loud music of the makeshift dance floor that has been set up in the living room.

There’s an iPod with a not-so-carefully curated playlist running through a range of terrible 00s school disco pop, 80s rock, more recent dance tunes, and a range of other genres that ensures that in any 3 consecutive songs there is both one you adore and one you can’t stand to listen to. People are drunk enough by this point that that is not enough to stop the enthusiastic dancing and the room is alive. There’s something calm about this, about observing from the side of the room, and he leans against the wall and laughs as he watches Daphne drag an unenthusiastic Simon onto the floor to dance to McFly.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees the tall, windowed French doors open and turns to catch Eloise and Penelope coming back in from the garden, chatting and picking their way through the crowd to find a suitably empty corner of the room. He wanders over to them and Penelope smiles up at him as he approaches. Eloise smells like cigarettes and he pretends not to notice. “Avoiding the dancing are we?” he asks

“The world isn’t ready for my dance moves yet,” Eloise claims, then does a strange move that seems somewhere between ballet and karate. When she almost falls over, Penelope is there to catch her and they both burst out laughing.

“I’m not sure you’re ready for them,” Penelope points out between giggles.

Eloise laughs, finding her balance again. “Yeah, I’m working on it.” 

“And you?” Penelope asks, turning to him now that Eloise is able to stand up and support herself. “What’s your excuse for hiding at the edge of the dancefloor?”

“I’m hiding from mum more than the dancing,” he explains. “I think I’ve been introduced to every single eligible girl in the whole town.”

“Mum’s setting her sights on the next wedding,” Eloise teases, which is ridiculous because Benedict’s older than him and he thinks even Francesca might be closer to marriage than he is, with her boyfriend of 1 year who she’s going to uni up in Scotland in order to be near to.

Either way, he’s in no mood to be tied down in a relationship, especially not when all the Grecian women he’s met have been so hospitable. “Well I’m going to have to disappoint because I simply cannot deal with meeting even one more person.”

“But if you’ve already been introduced to them all, surely you have nothing to be avoiding,” Penelope says, feigning actual confusion. 

Eloise’s proud smile tells him that she’s very happy that Penelope has chosen to get in on the siblings’ habit of taking the mick out of him.

“You’re too clever for your own good, anyone ever tell you that?” he asks her, slightly more irritable than he has any right to be.

“Oh, I tell myself constantly,” she replies.

He huffs out a chuckle.

“You’d do well to stick around her,” Eloise suggests; “some of her brains might rub off o-”

Before she can finish what she’s saying Colin sees a tall guy with dark curly hair coming across the room towards them and can’t help himself from smirking as he interrupts her insult to say, “Don’t look now but William is coming over.”

For a split second Eloise just looks at him with complete confusion, then her face drops.

“Who’s William?” Penelope asks but before either of them have time to answer, William has come up to stand behind Eloise.

“Eloise, is that you?”

She takes a deep breath and he can almost see her thinking _Lord, give me strength_ before she turns around, a barely convincing fake smile on her lips. “William? Hi!” she exclaims brightly.

“It’s so great to see you again!” William announces with such great enthusiasm it’s almost painful.  
Colin is very proud of the way he doesn’t laugh when Eloise can’t bring herself to agree and just continues to smile at him with no response.

“Would you like to come dance maybe?” William ventures.

“Oh, I would _love_ to,” Eloise tells him, “but you see, Penelope here doesn’t really know anyone so I promised we’d stick together.” She gives him an apologetic look that really does make it seem like she’s sorry that she doesn’t have to spend time with him.

Colin is maybe a little ashamed of what he does next. Eloise almost definitely doesn’t deserve it but yesterday she had said that most days he and Anthony battle it out for the title of least favorite brother, which, okay, he knew he’d never make first place whilst Benedict was still alive but he figured he’d at least have a shot at second favourite and the idea that some days he ranks below Anthony is quite frankly insulting, so you’ll forgive him for taking the opportunity to get back at her. “I can keep Pen company for a bit,” he offers, “since you’d so _love_ to go and dance.”

“I,... erm,” Eloise stammers, trying to find another suitable excuse that would get her out of it but William seems to have absolutely no awareness of how unhappy she clearly is. “Brilliant!” he says, already practically dragging her to the dance floor with single-minded purpose. She turns back to the two of them, shooting daggers at him, and drags a finger across her throat.

Colin and Penelope are left standing at the edge of the dancefloor, shoulder to shoulder, looking out at the mass of people moving in time to the music.

“Who was he?” Penelope asks.

“Oh, family friend. His dad and our dad met at uni or something,” he explains. “Used to have the biggest crush on El, would follow her around everywhere.”

“Ah right.”

“He’s harmless, just a little insistent,” Colin clarifies.  
“Yeah and absolutely no ability to read a room,” she comments. “Think it takes serious work to have that little emotional intelligence.”

Colin hums out a small sound of agreement. “How long do you think it’ll take him to realise she’s gay?”

“I’d say she could have it written on her forehead and we’d still be talking days.” 

He laughs and she smiles up at him, seemingly proud that she was able to make him do so. “Congrats on your prelims, by the way” he says, remembering that she’d mentioned she’d managed to get a first in her exams this year in the last email he’d gotten from her. 

She blushes and looks away, tucking a stray lock of red hair behind her ear. “Oh, yeah, thanks.”

He thinks she must have a couple of months or so before she starts her second year. At this point in the holidays he was always desperate to return and have some independence, see his friends. “So what are the plans for the rest of summer?” he asks. 

She shrugs. “Nothing much really; they sent round the second year reading list the other day though so should probably start on that.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Wow, actually reading the reading list - explains the prelims result.”

She looks up at him quizzically “You didn’t read the books on the reading list?”

“I skimmed them…” he tries, although even that’s a little generous. 

Her jaw drops to gape at him, amused.

“The hardworking people at spark notes pour so much time and effort into reading them and summarising them, I’d really hate for all that to go to waste,” he tries to justify

She laughs brightly, the expression in her eyes still a little incredulous. “All those articles I sent you,” she says with a shake of her head. “I would’ve been better editing them myself.”

“Hey, I know enough about mythology to proof-read an article about a terrible film based on a rubbish bastardisation of the Persephone myth,” he defends himself, remembering the very first article she’d sent him back at the start of the year. 

Back in January, when she’d been in her second term, he’d gotten an email from her out of nowhere (he suspects that it might have been Eloise who had passed on his email address). After the usual formalities, she’d gone on to explain that she was now the editor of the culture section of a student newspaper and she had attached an article that had been submitted. She could check for spelling and grammar, appropriate paragraphing and such problems but ultimately, she had told him, she knew nothing about the strange Greek names or accuracy of the actual content. She had insisted that if he didn’t have the time he shouldn’t worry about it at all, but if he wanted to it would be great if he could give it a once over for her.

“And, I enjoyed it if nothing else,” he adds, because it had been almost fun to try and put his degree to use six months on - especially when he’d spent his whole uni career having people constantly tell him that a classics degree was all but useless.

More than that, it had been nice to hear from her, and she’d seemed genuinely interested in what he was doing, which gave him a much needed opportunity to wax lyrical about everything he’d seen and done and how it had made him feel. A strange sort of friendship bloomed in which every time she wrote an article for the paper she’d send it to him to proofread first, and in return he told her about his various adventures, the places he’d seen and people he’d met, in long, rambling prose. She’s always very kind about his writing, insisting that she enjoys hearing the stories of his travels, even suggesting that he could publish them if he wanted.

“What about you? What plans do you have for the rest of summer?” Penelope asks.

He’s not exactly a plans person, much preferring to see where the wind takes him, but he has begun thinking recently that he might have seen everything Greece has to offer. “Head North maybe, I think. Croatia’s supposed to be nice.” 

“You’re not coming home any time soon then?” she asks. 

He’d not even thought of coming home as an option. He’d imagined that taking some time out to travel would have done something to remedy this sense of restlessness that he had, like maybe the thing he felt he was missing was just adventure or excitement or new horizons. But now that he’s spent a year just wandering he thinks it might have even gotten worse. Whatever it is that he’s looking for, he definitely hasn’t found it yet, and he thinks he might have much more of the world to see before he does.

“No... you’ll have to come visit me instead,” he says, bumping his shoulder against hers. He’s always telling her of restaurants with insanely delicious food he’s been to and works of art he’s seen in museums that make his heart feel inexplicably heavy and light at the same time, and insists that she has to visit them one day. If she came to see him he could at least show them to her himself.

She looks up at him, her eyebrows drawn together slightly as if she’s trying to figure something out, solve a confusing puzzle maybe and her cheeks are red, probably from the temperature of the room and the red wine she’s holding that has started to tint her lips a deep purple.

Before he can ask what’s confusing her the song finishes and the smooth, emotional vocals of unchained melody begin to fill the room. He imagines that whoever put this on the playlist didn’t plan for it to be played so late in the evening. It doesn’t exactly have the vibe of drunken partying and he expects to find the rest of the guests equally confused, but when he looks across the dancefloor he sees that most people have taken the change of pace within their stride.

There’s a roar of laughter and he looks over to the source of the sound to find that Simon has taken Anthony from his new wife’s clutches and is swaying with him in time to the song. After a few moments, Daphne and Kate follow suit, holding each other close as they laugh together.

It’s a sweet scene, them mixed up with all of the couples wrapped up in each others’ embrace. Then amidst all of the dancers his eye catches on Eloise who’s being held by William. When she notices him looking she mouths _help me,_ to him from across the room.

“I think we should probably go rescue El.” he says.

“Oh, god,” she says, as if she’d somehow forgotten Eloise entirely.

They pretty effectively manage to break up the awkward slow-dancing but it takes them a good few minutes of attempting to initiate conversations that clearly didn’t involve William for him to get the picture and make an excuse to leave.

Eloise huffs out a sigh when he’s finally gone. “You are _definitely_ my least favourite brother.”

* * *

Later in the evening, he finds himself sat in the study with his two older brothers and ok, maybe they’re pretty hammered but in their defence it’s probably been literal years since they’ve been in a room together, just the three of them, and their “the original trilogy” group chat really pales in comparison. 

“You should probably both prepare for mum to turn her matchmaking abilities onto you now,” Anthony warns them.

“Prepare? She’s already started on me,” Colin informs him, thinking of how the first half of his evening was spent doing nothing but being introduced to people. He’s looking forward to getting back to Europe again - this town is much too small to properly enjoy being single in and his mum would have to be supernaturally gifted to meddle in his romantic life from across the channel.

“Well I’m not surprised,” Benedict comments as he exchanges a knowing grin with Anthony that tells him they want him to ask about it. He’s missed his brothers dearly but he definitely hasn’t missed being the one who’s so much younger than the both of them and not always on the same wavelength.

“Why?” he asks, exasperated, because he can’t stop himself.

“Approximately what percentage of this evening would you say you’ve spent with Penelope?” Anthony asks nonchalantly. 

Before he can ask what Anthony even means by that, Benedict speaks up to say, “That’s not fair.” Colin thinks he agrees, until he continues on. “We’re arts students, Colin doesn’t know what a percentage is.”

Colin and Benedict both fall about laughing as Anthony rolls his eyes. “Okay, how much _time_ have you spent with her this evening?” he corrects himself.

Probably not much, Colin thinks, especially when you consider that he’d spent what felt like hours trying to appease his mum by making tired conversation with various girls who didn’t particularly want to be talking to him. And even if he had spent most of his time after that with Penelope, it had only been because she and Eloise had had the same idea of avoiding the dancing. For most of the evening it had been all three of them, except for when he’d forced Eloise to go dance with William. And when she’d gone to chat with their cousins for a bit. Oh, and when she’d gone to smoke with Benedict and insisted they didn’t have to brave the cold for her… So maybe it had been just the two of them for a bit but he was mainly just keeping her company since, as Eloise had pointed out, she didn’t exactly know many people here, so whatever they’re trying to imply here is completely ridiculous.

“We were chatting.” He explains. “What’s your point?”

“What could you possibly have to chat about with Eloise’s best friend?” Benedict asks him.

“Writing,” he answers.

Both of his brothers look at him like he’s started talking gibberish. 

He begins trying to explain, since they’re clearly nowhere near as intelligent as they think they are if they’re struggling with this. “She writes for the student newspaper and she wanted me to proofread an article - about mythology,” he clarifies. “And she seemed interested in how Greece was, so we kept in touch.”

“Interested in _Greece_ , huh?” Anthony comments.

Benedict grins, as if there was some joke in the words.

“Yeah, exactly.” He knew it wasn’t that difficult of a concept to grasp. “I send her emails about what I’m up to and she sends me articles she’s written.”

“Email?” Anthony asks, looking genuinely confused. “What is this 2002?”

Colin rolls his eyes. “It’s convenient.”

“Well, that solves the mystery of the dancing then.” Benedict concludes. His brothers look at each other conspiratorially as if his dancing is somehow something that has come up before this evening.

He sighs, hating that he can’t keep himself from asking the questions they so clearly want him to. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve been sulking at the edge of the room almost all evening but unchained melody comes on and suddenly you and Pen just _have_ to dance?” Benedict points out. 

Anthony cuts in to add, “Which must’ve been the first time you’ve danced at a family event since you were, what, ten years old?” and Colin can’t help but feel like he’s being ganged up on here. 

Ok, he’ll admit that it could look a bit strange from the outside but firstly: he’d been trying to get Eloise back from William; and secondly: even if they had been dancing that really would not have been a big deal. “I didn’t realise dancing constituted a proposal these days!”

“Well, maybe not a proposal but...” Benedict starts with a smirk.

“My God, I am not interested in Penelope Featherington!” he announces as firmly as he can. 

As he finishes the final word both of his brothers look up in unison to the space behind him where the entrance to the room is. 

He turns around to see Penelope standing in the doorway, looking startled, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. A few strands of hair have come loose from all the dancing, falling out of the fancy updo to frame her face. Her cheeks have the same red blush to them that they’ve had for most of the evening.

There’s a weird silence that descends on the room, a stillness that he, in his drunken state somehow fails to recognise. 

“Pen, hey, perfect timing!” he exclaims excitedly. “Explain to these idiots that we’re not living in the nineteenth century anymore; dancing isn’t generally viewed as a declaration of love.”

He doesn’t notice the way his brothers are viewing him with complete and utter confusion, bamboozled into silence by the lack of care in his words. He doesn’t notice the way that she looks exactly like a deer caught in headlights.

The room holds like that for a few long seconds and then she’s forcing out a harsh laugh. “I definitely saw you dancing with Simon,” she tells Anthony. “Do I have to tell your wife that your eyes are wandering so soon after the wedding?”

Glad to have her quick wit turned onto his brother, Colin laughs raucously. He can’t understand why his brothers don’t do the same, still sitting in the same shocked silence they’ve been in since she entered the room. 

“I should... I should go,” Penelope says then and begins to move back towards the door where she came in. 

Colin turns in his chair and catches her wrist in his hand. “Stay and chat for a bit,” he suggests. 

“No, I was just looking for El,” she explains, and pulls away from him lightly. 

He’s about to plead _just for a minute_ when Anthony stands from his chair and says, “Let go of her, Colin.” His voice is calm and soft but there’s something authoritative about it that reminds him of when he’d tried to deal with their father’s death by appointing himself the patriarch of the family.

He drops her wrist and her other hand immediately flies to cradle it, as if he’d hurt her, which he can’t have done because he knows he was only holding it loosely. 

“I think I saw Eloise in the library,” Anthony tells her in gentle tones and ushers her out of the room. “I’ll take you there” 

It’s only when he turns back to Benedict, who’s looking at him incredulously, that he notices the strange feeling in the room, uncomfortable and close. 

His brother breaks the silence by telling him, “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?” And then with a sigh he gets up from his chair. “I’m going to find Henry.”

He’s left sitting alone in the study not entirely sure of what has just happened but certain that he managed to fuck it up royally. 

* * *

(“Did he hurt you?” Anthony asks once they’re out of the room in that same gentle voice he’d used earlier. 

“What?” Penelope asks, a little disoriented, everything about the past couple of minutes feeling surreal and bizarre. But then she sees him looking at her left hand, still cradling her right wrist as if it was injured. “Oh... no” she tells him “not at all.” And she moves both hands to her sides as if to show him that she really means it. She doesn’t know why she’d been holding it like that really, probably just a reflex, maybe it felt like it should’ve hurt. 

“He doesn’t think,” Anthony says, “you know, before he speaks.”

“No, no he doesn’t,” she agrees.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, would appreciate someone to tell me how to words.


End file.
